


Contagion

by days4daisy



Category: Kong: Skull Island (2017)
Genre: Extra Treat, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Protection, Referenced Unsuccessful Suicide Attempt, Sex Pollen, Yuleporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-21 16:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: “I’ll- I’ll hurt you,” Conrad pleads. “You must see that. I don’t want to hurt you. I promised I would never, on my life...please. I won’t hurt you, I won’t.” His legs sprawl wide, begging for the exact opposite of his words.





	Contagion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweetcarolanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetcarolanne/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, sweetcarolanne! Hope you enjoy this treat :)

A rustle shifts overhanging trees. Birds caw before they flee, and Conrad gropes for his gun. His hand does not want to cooperate, his fingers stumble over the hilt. Sweat drenches Conrad's body, but he cannot stop shaking. Tears turn his vision into a smear of colors.

A breath ghosts between swaying branches. Conrad flicks the safety from his pistol and fumbles to curl fingers around the trigger. His eyes squeeze shut, his head is pounding.  _Give me dignity, Weaver. Give me a choice. Please._ His own shrill voice echoes between his temples.

One lazy motion flicks Conrad's pistol away before he can get the barrel to his mouth. The beast’s face looms through the brush. Flame-like eyes narrow down at him.

Conrad's face is pink with fever, his eyes wet and unfocused. He lost his shirt some time ago as he...stumbled back from the shore? Or was it when he flattened his back against a tree and prayed that its pressure would cure this pain?

Conrad does not know what this is. He screamed so at Weaver as he ducked from her concern. _Don’t know… Along the beach… It might be contagious, I don’t know, Weaver, I don’t know, give me the gun, give it to me! I can’t stay here, give it to me now!_

Conrad bats at the air with a weak hand. “Go away,” he slurs. “Don’t know. Don’t - stay back.” He throws a rock the size of his thumb. Kong does not even glance at it. Too small to see likely, but he does see Conrad.

Scratches cover Conrad’s skin, pink lines ridged with drying blood. He dug nails into himself, anything to stop _feeling_. Nothing has worked. Every breath gurgles through Conrad's lungs as his heart hammers in his chest. His tongue is like sandpaper, his body thick with goosebumps. His belly twists sickly, and heat swims between his legs. His pants are thick in front, torturous need without remedy.

Kong stares at Conrad’s prone body like Conrad does not belong here; in this place, beneath these trees, on his island. Conrad should find this insulting, but his body is too enthralled by such a heavy gaze. He closes his eyes against the feeling and hopes whatever Kong intends to do, he’ll do quickly.

Conrad squirms inside his own skin. He wants to scream, but he lacks even the voice to gasp when the beast plucks him from the ground. “Nnn-” Conrad croaks. He wants to tell Kong to leave him be, that something is wrong, he's infected. Conrad's prolonged existence may threaten the entire island. It’s alright, Conrad knew the risks when he answered Monarch’s call. He understood how his life would end, and that his final moment would come sooner rather than later. Conrad is at peace with his fate. Better to die in the presence of wonder than in an underground pool hall with a knife in his back.

Kong lifts Conrad to his face. He is unfathomable even after repeat tours back to Skull Island. From this vantage, Conrad cannot see the beast’s full face. Only his wide mouth and deep nostrils flaring open to sniff. Conrad shudders under his gusted breaths. They light Conrad’s flesh ablaze and blister him in goosebumps. A sigh wheezes from his chapped lips.

God, if only Kong would touch him.

Conrad squeezes his eyes against the thought. He curls on himself, knees bunched to his chest, in an attempt to block out the stroke of Kong’s exhales. Perhaps Kong means to eat Conrad alive and end his misery with teeth larger than his body.

A finger nudges Conrad’s chest. Careful as Kong’s touch is, Conrad is still jostled to his back. He opens from his tuck into a helpless splay of limbs. Kong’s eyes glow like twin sunrises. Conrad’s heartbeat stutters.

 _Contagion! Infiltrated ecosystem! The last protector of his kind! Stupid, so bloody stupid!_ His own voice rattles like a migraine behind his eyes. Monarch trusted Conrad to ensure something like this would never happen. Conrad should sense danger and steer himself and their people away from it. He failed in his mission, and now everything is coming undone.

Conrad twists to his belly on Kong's palm. He lacks the energy to even crawl like a child. The earthy scent of the beast makes Conrad’s head light. His bleary eyes train on fingers that could crush him with ease.

A snort from Kong precedes a less gentle flick. Conrad lands on his back again. His shock becomes panic, hot and desperate. “I’ll- I’ll hurt you,” he pleads. “You must see that. I don’t want to hurt you. I promised I would never, on my life...please. I won’t hurt you, I won’t.” His legs sprawl wide, begging for the exact opposite of his words.

Kong huffs in reply, as if - impossible - he understands. And - more impossible - he has weighed Conrad’s words and dismissed them as foolish. Conrad groans frustration and beats a fist against Kong’s palm. If only his legs would work! He could run - leap to the jungle floor before Kong catches him. End this without any further risk to Kong, to Weaver, to the island, anything and anyone but himself.

Conrad gasps at the single finger that flattens him to Kong’s palm. The beast’s touch roams his torso and descends between his legs. A weak protest wrenches from Conrad’s lips. He is dizzy, eyes stinging with tears. Something brand-hot burns deep in his belly.

Kong prods at Conrad like a curious child plucking at a fallen insect. He smears a finger through Conrad’s sweat-damp hair and grazes the side of Conrad’s face. His leathery skin makes the scratch lines on Conrad’s body sing with new soreness. Conrad twists beneath Kong; his touch feels too good for pleasure. Every piece of his body is on fire. Mortified, desperate, Conrad squeezes a hand in his own hair. He strokes his own neck and arches into his own touch. His nipples grow hard, too sensitive even for his own hands.

Hazy, Conrad undoes his belt. The humid air hits Conrad’s body like an electric current. He moans at the freedom from his clothing. His nakedness presses to Kong’s oil-black palm. Cock raised and blushed, Conrad arches as if the heavy island air can swallow him.

Kong bows his head - taking in Conrad’s scent, he realizes. Does Kong feel the need radiating from his body like a dangerously high fever? “Please,” Conrad whispers. He does not have the slightest idea what he is asking for, only that he needs it now.

Kong’s tongue darts out for a quick sample. It flicks in one easy motion from legs to neck. Conrad hisses, and his waist shoots up. With one casual lick, Conrad’s cock begins to leak. Conrad stretches his legs wider just to feel the pull between his thighs.

Kong makes a quiet, rumbling sound as he fills Conrad’s legs with a single finger. Gentle - teasing? - the beast kneads him. Heavy balls are rolled with little effort. Pressure against his ass shoots like a fired rifle up Conrad’s spine. Conrad’s voice cracks as he grinds himself down. He cannot help himself; he craves with a hunger he has never felt in his life, and somehow Kong knows. Kong is helping Conrad. Protecting him as he would protect any other creature within his kingdom.

Conrad pinches his own nipples and drags nails down his own neck. Kong fingers him with greater interest, quickened strokes between his thighs. His skin is like the most expensive leather. Conrad’s head swims. “Thank you,” he whispers, “thank you, thank you.” His voice snags in his throat when Kong’s finger leaves him.

Kong's tongue replaces the touch. Conrad screams.

Being tasted so thoroughly and with so little effort is impossible for Conrad to get his head around. Kong plays with Conrad’s prick as if it is nothing, a mere crumb to sample. The beast’s tongue is thick and jungle-hot wedged against his ass. Kong tastes like the weight of a second body, only wet and silk smooth. Conrad is begging, babbling nonsense.

A finger scrubs Conrad’s hair, and he rubs his warmed face against it. His head is spinning, heart throbbing out of control. This may kill him, Conrad thinks wildly. His hips buck towards Kong’s tongue. His legs shudder, and his stomach clenches. Pleasure hums through his gut. Conrad is burning, possibly dying, losing his mind, gasping for air.

His orgasm is like a stab wound puncturing his belly. It seeps hot through every inch of him, and Conrad throws his head back. His vision goes hazy, and he digs hands into his own chest. Distant, he hears the murmur of the beast. Tasting his seed, Conrad realizes. His body spasms. The release does not want to stop, wave after wave of gut-shuddering pleasure. It’s too much, too good. Conrad buries his face against Kong’s finger. He kisses him, breathes him in, as Kong rubs his tear-crusted cheeks.

It’s over like it begins, out of nowhere. Zero to one hundred and back again. Conrad goes limp, too heavy to move. His vision fogs over, and the world tilts. Panic drains out of his skin. He feels weighed down, over-extended, wet skin cooling under Kong’s exhales.

“I’m sorry,” Conrad rasps. “You shouldn’t have to look after me. You do enough, you-”

Kong rests a finger in the center of Conrad’s chest. With care, it begins to circle.

Conrad sighs, mouth tipped to a tired smile. His two hands together are not long enough to embrace Kong’s single finger. “Thank you,” he says again, and he closes his eyes.

*The End*


End file.
